


there will be time

by Ushio



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Needs A Hug, Fix-It, M/M, Not Beta Read, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Steve Rogers Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-02-07 04:45:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18613420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ushio/pseuds/Ushio
Summary: They might die someday but not yet — they live, still, miraculously so — they're living, they're here, it's okay,it's okay—Bucky presses his forehead against Steve's, breathing him in.





	there will be time

**Author's Note:**

> I saw the movie like, six hours ago and I just. Hated that fucking ending so much. It didn't make sense to me /AT ALL/ and it's driving me nuts how little interaction there was between Steve and Bucky and how absurd it all seemed........... so here's some mess of a fic that I don't even know where's headed? I just. Had to write something. With a sprinkle of sad, sad Tony because I love him 3000 💔
> 
> English is not my first language and this was not beta read at all so please forgive any mistakes bbb

There is no time, at first, to talk about the snap. They catch a glimpse of one another on the midst of the fray and can barely exchange a look, a plea: _please, do not die before I can hold you again_.

Bucky does his best to focus on the task at hand (killing, shooting, running, staying alive alive **alive** —), despite the grief he's drowning in. He can't help thinking about it — about Sam saying _the date, Bucky look at it it's been five years_ back at that fucking jungle and the picture that paints in his head. Steve, alone. Steve, waiting. Steve, beyond the end of the line — lost at world's end. He can't stop thinking about it, as he minces and stabs and murders his way through endless hordes of enemies. That single thought. Steve's back, vast and trembling and so dear to him — small. A man hunched over the earth, insignificant before a grave. His grave. He cannot wait to tear it down.

It's not a memory nor a truth. For all that he knows, Steve married some lonely woman and found solace in an empty world. But his eyes — his eyes are luminous when they met. His face wears the relief of a saved castaway. It is just one moment they have among the dying, just a second in war. It is enough. War is all they have ever had.

He thinks about his grave as he fights and saves and runs. It feels like he has cheated death, somehow. Like it cannot touch him now. Like its ashy fingers are grasping at his clothes but merely grazing his flesh, his soul. He feels renewed. Alight. He catches glimpses of Steve flying through the battlefield, holding onto Thor's _hammer_ and he just knows—

They're going to win. They will have time. Death cannot reach their hearts.

 

* * *

 

It can, though, reach Tony Stark's. Bucky attends the funeral out of courtesy and respect but never has he ever felt more out of place. Tony may have forgiven him years ago but Bucky will never forgive himself.

He stands next to Sam, skin crawling with discomfort. Steve stays close to his fellow avengers as Pepper lowers his heart onto the water — as it floats away, gently, towards death's domain. There is a moment of perfect silence as the summer breeze ruffles their clothes and hair. They watch. Bucky presses his nails harder into his hands, nervously shifting his weight from foot to foot as nervously as he shifts his regret from heart to head. His eyes skim over the child Tony left behind, fiercely clinging to her mother's hand. Thinks of his own mother's funeral. Of the way he had clung to Steve's hand as his heart was buried beneath the ground. He had been a child, too, right until that moment. He was changed, forever. Just as she has. They can never forget the snap.

Steve turns his head towards Clint and Bucky catches a glimpse of a tear, glistening beneath the morning sun. The tear makes its way through his cheek and his jaw, running along the lines of his neck, leaving a small wet trail. Others follow suit. His shoulders shake and he can see it — Steve's back, vast and trembling and so dear to him — small. Bucky turns to leave, heart hammering inside his chest, against his ribs; _there won't be time_  it says.

The truth settles within his bones and congeals, weighing him down. He knows. He knows. He knows.

 

* * *

 

It is Steve who finds him first. After rebuilding and fixing and tending and organizing so many things and so many people, he finds the moment Bucky has not been looking for. Too terrified to move. Too burdened by his perfect truth. He cannot face him and so he has hid among any and all work — Steve approaches him in Bruce's makeshift lab, tinkering with his arm. It doesn't move quite right since he came back. Like it knows it should be dead.

"Bucky?" He says, and it's the first time they have properly talked to each other after all that chaos and hurt. Looks and ash-covered post-battle embraces can only carry so many thoughts along.

"Yeah?"

Steve sits down next to him on a stool. He takes a deep breath and reaches out for him, hand hovering above his shoulders, fingers trembling, heart congealed. He doesn't move. He says: "Are you okay?"

And it might just be the dumbest question Bucky's ever been asked. He can't help a startled little laugh. Steve blinks, surprised, then smiles in dismay. Bucky turns fully to him, both incredulous and exasperated, clasping with his flesh hand Steve's hovering one. He takes it to his lips and kisses the knuckles; once, then twice. His skin is warm, as warm as his eyes. The tension between them dissipates like sugar on water. _He's here_ some part of Bucky's brain screams. _He's here and he's alive and so are you—_ and so Bucky leans forward and kisses him on the mouth.

It takes Steve a moment to answer in kind — like he has forgotten how to kiss and touch. It takes a moment for Bucky's brain to catch up. Of course he has forgot. It has been five years. Remember? The grave. The truth.

He pulls abruptly away, as if scolded. Steve's eyes narrow in confusion; then hurt.

"Bucky."

He looks away.

"Of course I'm not okay, I—" He takes a deep breath. "I left you alone."

Steve frowns.

"Bucky, you didn't _leave_ , you were taken. There's a difference."

"Does it matter, though? I was gone. You had to keep living in this—" He gestures despectively to the world beyond and below the glass: a city like every other city, dusty and overgrown and full of empty places slowly being refilled. Like a broken glass taped anew; the cracks still visible in the dirty streets and the fearful people and their suspicious eyes. Bucky swallows, trying to find his voice. "I wasn't here when you needed me most."

"I don't care about that!" Steve insists, grabbing him by the shoulders. He shakes him slightly, as if trying to knock some sense into him. Bucky just feels his truth cement itself further within his heart. The words burst from him — a dam breaking apart.

"But I do!" He snaps. He raises his hands to push Steve away and can't barely make him bulge. Steve narrows his eyes stubbornly. He bites a scream back. "I died Steve! I fucking died. I died and you mourned me, I know you did, and you had to go on. You probably set up a stupid grave next to my mother's and sisters — brought me fucking flowers for all I know. I was _gone_  and you were in pain and I _know_ it wasn't my fault but it _was_  my fault. I should have been here. I should have been here, with you, through this all and I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm..." The water runs out. He feels as empty as the dam. Hollow. His body echoes when Steve pulls him into a hug, pressing their bodies in one long, sorrowful line. His eyes burn with unshed tears and Bucky buries them in Steve's neck. The regret is so heavy he can feel his knees buckle, and so leans against him. They embrace. Then:

"I didn't set you up a grave. You were gone. Ashes on the earth, the air. Had there been a grave you wouldn't have lied there." Steve talks in a soft voice against his ear; Bucky tightens the arms around his waist. "I did mourn you. I did think about you. Every single day. And I wanted to just lie down and _die_. Just rest."

A moment crosses between them: Pepper Potts saying _you can rest now_ , her words fluttering over the silent battlefield. Rest. What a beautiful dream.

"I thought about it many times. How much I wanted to join you. How I longed for it, every minute of every hour of every day. You were gone and there was no way to bring you back." Steve stops for a moment, his voice hoarse and cracked. Bucky's heart skips to a halt.

"How did you do it? If I... If you were to..." He can't barely finish the sentence, much less the thought. A world without Steve is not a world worth living.

"I promised you, didn't I? Til the end of the line. The line doesn't stop because it skips here or there. It goes on; and so did I. And so would you." He smiles against his shoulder; Bucky can feel it though his clothes, his skin, his flesh. Seeping warmth.

"I — couldn't. I couldn't have done it."

"You would have. I know you, Bucky Barnes. I _know_  you. It's okay. You have nothing to be sorry for. It's okay."

Bucky rarely cries but he can't help it this one time. His tears leave the same wet trail he saw on Steve's neck at the funeral;  he feels the truth beat within his chest, hard.

"We could die." He whispers, horror lacing his voice. There is no cheating death. There is never enough time. Tony's a stark reminder of it: of the absurdity and the frailty of fighting to reach an end that might never be in sight. He knows. He knows. He knows.

One day, Steve might die and there will be no time-traveling shenanigans to bring him back.

"Maybe." Steve concedes. He takes a step back and cups his face, thumb grazing his jaw. Bucky feels his pulse jumping in his neck, trying to reach for that hand. His heart, too, sways about his bones. Buoyant with wonder. With love. "But I believe in you. I know you would pull through. And I can promise you that I would, too."

Would. Possibilities, chances, maybe-so's, an uncertain future ahead. They might die someday but not yet — they live, still, miraculously so — they're living, they're here, it's okay, _it's okay_ —

Bucky presses his forehead against Steve's, breathing him in.

 

* * *

 

Their goodbyes are brief because they have said all that needed to be said. Bucky understands that the gems need to return to their proper timelines (except, not really, it doesn't mean jackshit to him) and he understands that Steve is the man for it (except, it's bullshit and they could have gone together) — but mostly, he understands that whatever happens they will be okay. He's sure of that now.

Steve smiles at him from the platform, eyes as luminous as that very first moment on the battlefield when they saw each other — _you're alive_. (What a wonder your existence is. You are.)

Bruce warns them and flicks his buttons. There is a zap and then — Steve is gone. Bucky closes his eyes. Counts inside his head as Bruce counts outside of it. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Five seconds. Five seconds. Bruce flicks his buttons and nothing happens. Sam ruffles besides him and urges him on. Bucky waits.

He doesn't open his eyes.

The moment stretches and Bucky trembles — a perfect truth sewed to his heart. _You will be alright._ A moment of silence. A moment of silence. A...

A zap. A loud clank.

"Steve!" Sam yells out. So does Bruce.

Bucky opens his eyes.

He smiles.

"Welcome back."  



End file.
